My_Story

We walked so exhausted that even our shadows, stepping on purple carpet spreaded by expiring Sun rays, hung on our necks, strengthening our torment yet. With monotonous, tiresome rhythm we moved forward slowly but stubbornly towards the last stage of our mountain wander – Krzyzne Pass, from where it was only four more hours of walk to get the shelter-house. There were two of us, enthusiasts wishing to ascend the most difficult route of Polish Tatras without any acclimatization, directly after taking a break from our daily work behind computer. Apart from exhaustion, we were pinched with thirst as well, because our clearly insufficient supplies of water have been running out very quickly since we have climbed on Granaty. I swallowed down saliva loudly, clearing for a moment my throat from ubiquitous dust getting into my mouth in unknown way and I stopped to take a deep breath. A few seconds later I overheard a rumble of falling stones and muffled swear said in fluent, noble Polish language. I turned around slowly, cause I did not want to exhaust the rest of my energy. Peter lied down in the middle of the path with unnaturally bended leg. His face, previously reddish from an effort, now became pale and his squeezed jaws showed that Peter made a great effort to not scream. “I have probably broken my leg” he said after a moment. “Show me” I answered and I came to him vividly pushed by my born curiosity. I had never seen before any broken bone. Peter took out a knife from his backpack and cut his trouser leg in two. There was an enormous hematoma on the level of his calf. And it was becoming bigger and bigger, totally deformating his limb. Peter touched it with his finger and screamed loudly out of pain. Somewhere in the distance a flushed bird fluttered its wings. “Get out of the route” I reminded him for regularity, however I was sure that nobody is following us. We were the last who that day had left for a journey on Orla Perc. Despite of regulations, which clearly prohibit to stop directly on the path, due to making queues on a route which is so narrow that any attempt to pass other tourist can follow to tragedy, I took down my backpack. Freezing wind immediately used the opportunity to hit my painful, stiffen shoulder muscles. I moved my shoulders to get back the circulation in them. I lied down on the stones next to Peter. He looked at me with this begging sight. “What do we do now'” he asked. I looked down. It was about ten minutes walk to the Pass according to a chart but I didn’t notice the route crossing which I had known from photos. Except of blowing wind we didn’t hear anything. Only once the sound of predacious bird reached our ears and also once, a few meters below us, a quiet big rock fell in making unpleasant clutter. Setting Sun was giving already rather an impression of light and warmth, laying down the shadow of a mighty mount on a whole, covered with evening fog, valley. Night was coming. I roused myself from thoughtfulness. “Have you got some water yet'” I asked. He gave a sign of assent. I reached to his backpack and took from there a bottle of water, hardly empty. When I was opening it, the screw cap fell out of my stiffly hands and rolled down towards the abyss, just a meter from us. In the moment when it just was supposed to disappear it change direction and landed in a safe, soft rug of small plants living on the edge of abyss and being probably some dwarfy kind of mountain pine. I had no strength to raise it. I put the bottle to my mouth and took three sips. I would take much more but my tongue discovered with disappointment that there was nothing left, not even a single drop. I took the bottle out of my lips with deep sigh and put it empty on a stone next to suffering Peter. However I drank just a little of liquid I felt much better. I stood up and put my pack on my back. Peter stared at me in silence but his eyes became bigger with every moment. Just like balloons when somebody blew in them. “See you down there” I said and moved vividly down the hill whistling cheerfully. I have never seen Peter anymore. We had an arrangement that if we were lost in the mountains we meet ourselves in Kuznice, the starting point of our trip. I have been waiting in this place and … nothing. We also promised ourselves that we will return to Poznan by the same train. But he left me stranded, … I had to travel alone. Be carefully then, who are you wandering in mountains with. You could always come across the person like Peter who unscrupulously deceive you like Peter did it to me.